


Fallout Femslash February Fun

by owlaholic68



Series: Fallout Femslash [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2, Fallout 4
Genre: Consensual Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff and Smut, Minor Canonical Character(s), Roommates, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: A lot of lady-lovin' happening in the wasteland.





	1. Heat - FO2 Valerie/Lydia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two gals in Vault City. Explicit sexual content.

Valerie wipes a hand across her forehead. 

“I can get you a glass of water,” Lydia suggests, standing behind her in the doorway. It’s the middle of the summer in Vault City, and the Tap House doesn’t have the benefit of a cooling system like the ritzy Parlor Room does. 

Valerie shrugs. “I don’t want to bother you. I’m almost done here anyways.” In front of her is one of Lydia’s Council-approved stills, brewing up the synthetic Tequila-W drink. Valerie had been called to fix a problem with one of the stills. And it wasn’t like she had anything else to do today. Maintenance duties mostly included replacing light bulbs and cleaning the security team’s weaponry. 

She sheds her heavy metal armor, pushing it into a corner with her foot. She unzips the top of her coveralls, letting it pool around her waist. Now only wearing a thin tanktop, her body is much cooler. In the corner of her eye, she sees Lydia staring at her. Valerie chooses to ignore her. She’s got work to do. 

Finally, she’s done, sighing heavily and standing. “Well, you should be good for now. Call me if it starts acting up again-” 

She’s cut off by Lydia grabbing her face and harshly kissing her. Then she pulls back, eyes wide and nervous. 

“I’m sorry if that was too forward-” Lydia starts to babble. Her strawberry blond hair falls over one plump shoulder. 

Valerie caresses Lydia’s cheek, still half in shock. Of course, she’s always noticed how Lydia looked at her. And Valerie hadn’t been able to help herself from doing a little bit of looking herself. There were so few eligible women in Vault City, even fewer who had tolerable personalities and passable looks. And Lydia was one of those few. 

“I’m fine with it,” Valerie whispers, leaning down to kiss the other woman again. Her eyes flicker to the closed door that leads to the rest of the bar. “I’ve got a few minutes of down time, do you want to-”

“Yes,” Lydia breathes. She puts her hands on Valerie’s waist, low and warm, sending sparks of heat up her body. “Yes, I do.” 

What Valerie remembers most of what follows is the heat. Lydia’s body on top of hers, a warm engine of love. Sweat dripping down her temples as she whines between clenched teeth, head thrown back against the wall. Brown hair sticking to her neck, Lydia burying her free hand in it, nails scraping the back of her neck and making her shiver despite the oppressive warmth.

Valerie remembers the freezing cold parts of it too. Lydia’s dipping fingers into her mouth and trailing those slick hands down her body. The cold floor under her bare skin. Lydia taking a wrench from Valerie’s toolbox and trailing it down lower and lower, making her squirm and cry out as it caresses her, the ice-cold metal sharp and rough against her sensitive skin. 

But of course, it all comes back to that heat. Lydia panting against her bare shoulder. Her warm hand over Valerie’s mouth, stifling her hot moans. That smoldering fever building in her groin until it spills over, burning hot over her thighs. Lydia kissing her, cupping one cheek with fingers dripping with hot magma. 

When it’s all finished, Valerie heaves a shuddering sigh, eyes wide and pupils dilated, staring up at the ceiling. They’re on the floor between two stills, legs tangled together and bare bodies pressed together. Valerie fumbles and finds a clean rag to clean their bodies off with, wiping the sweat from their brows. 

“Maybe-” Valerie clears her throat, coming back into herself. “Maybe that work I did on on your stills was a little rushed. Maybe I need to come back next week to fix them again.” 

Lydia grins. “You’re the mechanical expert. I think that sounds right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really know Lydia's character before starting this, but at least Valerie I knew (she's involved in the car quest). This heat made me jealous (it's barely gotten above freezing this week!)
> 
> Also...pretty much none of these characters are going to have tags.


	2. Cold - FO2 Becky/Lara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Den is cold, but their love is warm. Fluff.

This far north, the Den is suffering a cold spell blown in from the coast. Becky glares at a customer who takes just a little too long to close the door behind them, freezing air blowing into the bar. Her bar, Becky’s, is toasty warm and cozy, late-night patrons sitting at the bar or at tables, chatting loudly over the sound of clinking glasses. 

“One whisky, if you’ve got it,” a woman says, sitting down at the bar. Her voice is stuffy. She sniffs, a weak congested sound. 

“Coming right up,” Becky says, turning away. Of course, she recognizes the woman sitting in front of her. With the metal armor and cropped black hair, it could only be Lara, a local gang leader. Becky had never directly spoken to her before, but her HQ was just across the street from Becky’s. 

What Lara seems to need now is  _ not  _ alcohol, though. Behind her, Becky hears Lara sneeze. The best cure for a head cold  _ could  _ include whisky, though. Becky quickly heats up water and fetches a small precious jar of honey. She mixes it all together, adding a spritz of lemon juice before sliding the steaming drink across the counter. 

“What’s this?” Lara croaks, frowning down at the drink. “I thought I ordered a whisky.” 

“And that’s what this is,” Becky easily says, leaning on the counter. “You never had a hot toddy? Just added some extras. It’ll make you feel better in no time.” She takes in Lara’s flushed face and red nose. “You look like you need it.” 

Lara wraps her calloused hands around the mug. She curiously sniffs it, putting her head over the steam. Then, under Becky’s encouraging smile, she experimentally takes a sip. 

“This is...not bad,” she admits. “Thanks.” She drinks some more, chatting quietly with Becky from time to time. Gossip about other residents of the Den, speculations on what Metzger’s gang is planning next, stories of Lara’s more daring exploits. 

Eventually, the sick woman is drowsily slumped across the bar, a content smile on her lips. 

“Now, you go on and get some sleep,” Becky says. Now more than ever, she wishes that the Den had a doctor. People always seem to come to her for some reason when they’re sick. 

“Sure thing,” Lara mumbles. She slaps a handful of coins on the table. Her bright blue eyes are unfocused, hair mussed up and sticking straight on end. “Maybe I can see you again, Becky, when I don’t feel so,” she’s interrupted a bone-rattling sneeze, “maybe when I don’t feel so sick.” 

Becky claps her on the shoulder. Then she instinctively ruffles Lara’s hair, grinning at the tired frown she gets in return. She presses a kiss to Lara’s forehead, feeling the clammy skin while she inwardly freaks out. What does she think she’s doing, showing such affection to someone she barely knows? 

But Lara just smiles and pats her hand. “I’ll take that as a yes, darlin’. See you around.” 

The cold air blowing in from the door as she leaves isn’t cold enough to cool the bright blush on Becky’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always very fond of Lara, I always went and did her quest line in the Den. And I feel like her and Becky would get along really well.


	3. Open Road- FO2 Chosen One/Miria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Things you said on the highway. Fluff.

“I love you.” Miria says it like a revelation. 

Carla half-turns her head, keeping one eye on the road in front of them. She doesn’t say anything, simply raising an eyebrow. They’re alone in the car heading south from Modoc, right after their shotgun wedding. 

Miria twists her ring around her finger. It was a family heirloom, one that was kept in the back of her closet in a small box. A box that she never thought she would open. “I love you,” she repeats thoughtfully. “Carla. My wife.” 

“I love you too?” Carla replies. “What’s this all about, Miria? I thought we both decided that the wedding was really just a formality, something to make sure your father didn’t pump me full of lead.” She taps on the steering wheel. “Not that I don’t like you, of course…”

“It’s not that!” Miria says. “You’re great, Carla. You’re nice, and strong, and I’m not worried about being with you. It’s just,” she sighs, “this isn’t how I’d imagined it would all turn out.” 

On an impulse, Carla reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing it once. “I promise we don’t have to dive right into this, Miria. We can take it as slow as we want. And if it makes you feel any better, this is not  _ at all  _ how I thought my quest would go. Me, married?” She laughs, and Miria joins in. 

The smile fades from Carla’s face. “I hope one day you can meet my family.” 

Miria squeezes her hand. “We’ll find them, Carla.” 

In front of them, the highway stretches on for miles and miles through the dusty desert. At the far end, something is waiting for them. But they’ll be ready to face it. 

“Together,” Miria says. “We’ll do it together.”


	4. Colors- Miss Kitty/OC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia knew that her father, Orville Wright, would be mortified if he knew who she slept with: Miss Kitty's not exactly the most reputable woman in New Reno. 
> 
> Explicit sexual content.

As soon as Miss Kitty makes eye contact with her, Sophia knows that she’s been recognized. It’s hard not to be in this corner of New Reno. She can see Kitty ticking off the mental checkboxes: gangly, freckled skin, hair that bounces between strawberry blond and straw-colored depending on the light. Her father’s eyes, soft hazel. A knife at her hip and a leather jacket hanging loosely off her bare shoulders. 

“Didn’t know any of the Wright girls frequented this part of town,” Kitty says, sitting next to her at the bar. Her hair billows over her shoulder, bangs half-obscuring her lazily lidded eyes. 

Sophia shrugs. She curls her fingers around the cold Nuka Cola bottle in front of her. “Didn’t know you stepped out of your  _ establishment  _ to relax.” 

Kitty shrugs too, but she makes it look seductive and casual. “Even I need a break now and then.” Her voice sounds innocent, but the way she’s slowly trailing her fingers up Sophia’s arm suggests that her  _ real  _ intentions are anything but. Miss Kitty is dressed in a vintage slip, one of those Pre-War ones that had lace and beading and stretchy satin in all the right places. A sweater is slipping off one shoulder, and Kitty slowly pushes it back up with a hand that jangles with bracelets. 

Sophia’s eyes follow the movement. Kitty bites her lip and smiles knowingly. It’s like she knew, the moment she walked in that bar and laid eyes upon her, that in less than fifteen minutes, the two of them would be back in Kitty’s room, half-naked on top of each other. 

Privately, Sophia thinks that Chris is going to kill her if he ever finds out where she was that night. Her older brother can be  _ so  _ overprotective. To be fair, though, any older sibling would be worried about their younger sister getting involved with a woman like Miss Kitty. But the Wrights weren’t known for being passive wallflowers. And Sophia was feeling a little  _ rebellious  _ today. 

She doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. Kitty is so much, so overwhelming, that she’s forgotten every experience she’s ever had. She’s forgotten everything besides Kitty’s sweet floral perfume, besides the coarse strands of hair between her fingers as she leans in and kisses her,  _ hard _ , besides the creak of the mattress under her knees. 

Miss Kitty seems to pick up on her uncertainty. She pulls back, thumbing at the hollow of Sophia’s hip. “How about we make this easy, darlin’. I can give you a real good show, and you can just sit back and enjoy it, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sophia breathes, a soft hum escaping her. She sits back on her heels, the quilt on the bed scratching at her bare skin. 

A whisper of fabric, and Kitty is now completely naked, not even underwear covering the parts of her body that make Sophia flush with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. Some part of her itches, a rising desire to help, to touch Kitty all over until she’s moaning underneath her, until she’s seen this sexually dominant powerhouse flushed and panting. 

Kitty stretches out on the bed languorously, one of her ankles hooking around Sophia’s in a way that’s more intimate than she’s willing to face. Kitty’s body is at attention, the hard corners of her knees softened by her thick thighs. She slides one hand down her stomach and even lower, and Sophia covers her mouth to smother her instinctual gasp. 

Because then Kitty’s touching herself with wild abandon, and Sophia becomes acutely aware that she’s just  _ watching _ . She’s watching and Kitty  _ knows  _ it, she’s putting on a show just for her. 

And what a show it is. 

“Can I- can I touch myself?” Sophia finds herself asking, voice much higher than normal. Her fingers are twitching even before Kitty moans an approval. Sophia’s eyes flutter closed before she quickly opens them again, remembering why she’s here. 

Sophia’s seen photos of burlesque dancers that used to frequent Pre-War clubs. In another life, Miss Kitty could have been one of those dancers. She’s flexible, stretching her legs even more to give Sophia the  _ perfect  _ view, back arching to give her whole body the shape of a crashing wave. 

Sophia’s seen artwork shoved in moldy corners, art that was probably worth thousands of dollars before the bombs fell. Portraits, landscapes, the most gorgeous pieces. But none of that art compares to how Kitty looks now. The lights of the bustling street outside filters in through the window, lighting up Kitty’s skin red and magenta and green, neon brushstrokes swiping across her cheeks. A painter adds specks of gold to her lidded eyes, streaks of silver through her hair. 

Just the sight of her makes Sophia groan. Kitty’s breath hitches, and her knee bounces, legs taut like the bowstrings of a violin that Sophia saw once in the Desperado, because Kitty is nothing but a masterpiece in every way, in every movement-

And Kitty is like a mechanic, the way she diagnoses how close Sophia is yet how far. Her fingers, wet like she’s smeared grease over them, find all of the spots that need tuning. They twist and ratchet and wind her up so tight that only Kitty’s soft coaxing in her ear can make her finally break apart, her groaning cry like the roar of an engine starting. 

Sophia wishes she could stick to just one metaphor, but Kitty is making her brain stutter and jump from one thing to another, trying to make sense of the floaty feeling she’s wrapped up in. She’s like a dinghy drifting in the sea, weightless, and Kitty is the salty sweet wave brushing across her lips. 

She realizes that Kitty’s asking her something. Her eyes flutter open. 

“Do you want to stay here,” Kitty’s saying, laying next to her and tracing a finger across her cheek, “or do you want me to walk you home, darlin’?” 

“Here,” Sophia whispers. Then she falls asleep enveloped in Kitty’s cloud-soft arms, the moon overhead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sophia is an OC that I've had in the back of my head for a long time. A Wright kid (one of like 50) who helps organize the Family's activities. I've always found it interesting that the Wright family is literally all family.


	5. Roommates - FO2 Dorothy/Elise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god...they were roommates. Two gals in Shady Sands shack up together to save space. Fluff.

Shady Sands was a growing town, new structures popping up too fast to keep track of, new inhabitants crowding the already tight living quarters. 

Dorothy would have been content to put up a cot in the power plant if not for the constant noise of the generator. That, and Toto needed space too. The robot took up a surprising amount of room, with his charging station and his maintenance corner. Dorothy wipes her hands on her overalls, looking around her cramped shack. 

There were a few new quarters that just had gotten finished being built. The only problem was that they were two-person rooms.Two  _ human  _ people. But from what she’s seen of the interiors while she was helping set up the electricity, there would be enough room in the closets for Toto’s charging station. 

But Dorothy doesn’t  _ want  _ to have with a roommate. With her luck, she’d get one of the gabby patrons from Dusty’s Cantina, or one of the tough punks from the Rawhide Saloon. Of course, since the universe seems to hate her sometimes, she could even get that weirdo from the new “Church” across the street. 

She sighs and fills out an application form anyways, submitting it to the new housing office. Then she crosses her fingers. 

The next week, she gets a response in the form of a key on a ring. A small tag reads: Building 3, room 12. Hefting her sole box of possessions in her arms, Dorothy whistles for Toto to follow her. She didn’t own much: a spare pair of overalls, a few tanktops and pairs of underwear to go underneath, a precious pair of spare boots in excellent condition, and a few technical manuals. 

The building is full of other occupants moving in, all carrying bags and boxes. Dorothy shoulders her way through the hallways until she gets to her room. 

“-should have been background checked by someone to make sure she isn’t a goddamn slaver!” a feminine voice is raised in the room, the door slightly ajar. “I wish we could just have our own quarters.” 

“Elise, you know that this is right across from HQ. And anyways, it’s always good to build strong relationships with every member of the town. You’ve told me that a million times. Now come on, you need to start unpacking.” 

Dorothy realizes with a bit of shame that she’d been eavesdropping. She takes a deep breath. If her new roommate was nervous about having to live with someone else, then that makes two of them. She nudges the door open with her foot. 

Two people look up at her. The taller one is a man wearing a grease-stained set of combat armor. Not her roommate then. The shorter one is a pretty young woman also wearing combat armor. Her long dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few curly puffs framing her face. 

Dorothy’s breath catches in her chest. The sun streaming through the open window highlights the woman’s- Elise, the man had said her name was- dark skin, her brown eyes rich and deep. 

“Uh, h-hello,” Dorothy says, aware of the blush on her fair cheeks. “I’m your new roommate.” She fumbles to set down her box. “Dorothy. Nice to meet you.” 

Elise looks her up and down before she seems to catch herself. “I’m Elise.” She nods at the man. “Rando, I think I’m good here. How about you make sure that HQ’s not falling apart without me?” The man good-naturedly salutes and gives both of them a knowing smile as he walks out the door. 

“I’ve taken the left bed, if you don’t mind,” Elise says. “It’s closer to the door if I need to attend to an emergency.” 

Looking at the small pin affixed to Elise’s armor, Dorothy recognizes that she’s the leader of the newly formed Ranger squad. Now the slaver comment from before makes sense: in her line of work, it pays to be a little paranoid. Thankfully, Dorothy and Elise don’t find themselves on opposite sides of that particular conflict. 

As the two women unpack, they get to know each other. Elise seems amused by Toto, but not annoyed, which is a good start. And Dorothy is interested by Elise’s rigid system of organization, but can easily see herself slipping into the same rhythm. 

Finally, their room is organized and homely. They sit on their respective beds, just enjoying the silence together. In the corner, Toto gets used to his new charging station.

“I think we’re going to get on really well,” Elise says. She smiles at Dorothy. 

“I think you’re right,” she says.

Two months later, making out together on those same beds, Dorothy can safely says that they’ve gotten on  _ splendidly _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to do another with these two, since I love the roommates to lovers trope!


	6. Oh my God...they were roommates- FO2 Dorothy/Elise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to the last chapter. Roommate shenanigans. Fluff.

“So.” Elise says, more calmly than she feels. Her face is covered in soot and grease. 

Dorothy sheepishly rubs her arm, which is covered in grease. Her hair, falling out of her half-up ponytail, is singed. “How was I supposed to know that it would do that?” 

Elise sighs. “You’re an engineer. I thought you knew about machines.” 

“But Toto is kind of a...piecework robot,” Dorothy admits, frowning at the puddle of water forming under her coveralls from the heavily patched water hose in her hands. She quickly turns the hose off. “His circuits can be a little unstable sometimes.” 

Elise just sighs again. Their shared room reeks of smoke, no matter how many fans they have blowing towards the open window. Thankfully, all of their belongings had escaped the accident. There was a dark burned patch on the ceiling, but other than that no _ serious  _ damage. She reluctantly kisses Dorothy on the forehead. 

“Maybe you should do maintenance in the common room instead next time.” 

* * *

Their region of California had two weather modes: scalding hot and numbingly cold. Right now, it was the latter. 

Dorothy groans, buried under a pile of blankets. She’s huddled as close to Toto’s charging station as possible when Elise walks through the door, shedding her heavy Ranger coat and combat armor. Elise stomps her boots before taking them off, dislodging a dusting of snow that had covered them. 

“What’s up with you?” she asks, peeking under the blanket fort. 

“It’s  _ cold _ ,” Dorothy whines. “And Toto’s charging station is the warmest thing in the room. Something’s wrong with our heat, but it’s too  _ cold  _ to even bother trying to fix it!” 

Elise frowns. “Well, how about we make some hot chocolate and you start on assembling a  _ real  _ blanket fort.” 

“Aye, aye,  _ captain _ ,” Dorothy teases. A half an hour later, they’re cuddled up together in Dorothy’s closet. Toto whines confusedly at the current state of his station, but the robot’s whirring warmth helps fill the small space. 

Dorothy cuddles into Elise’s warm body, slipping her cold hands beneath her shirt and making her girlfriend (what a giddy thing to even think) shiver and try to squirm away. Then their cuddling turns into a tickle fight, the two of them almost knocking over their mugs of hot cocoa. After calming down and making sure their drinks are safe, they sink into a cozy nap together, wasting away the rest of the day like that, in their own warm nest. 

* * *

Elise hears shouts coming from outside. Panicked yelling, something about the power plant. 

The power plant. Dorothy. 

She sprints out the door of the Ranger HQ, ignoring Gond’s confused grunt. Thankfully, the Ranger station is right next to the power plant. The first thing she sees is Toto next to the door. Dorothy is talking to a taller woman. 

“Please, just be careful, run for it if he doesn’t listen-” she’s pleading. Elise can see her hands shake.

The other woman pats her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. Now just step back, alright?” Then she walks into the power plant, the door sliding shut behind her. 

“Dorothy?” Elise says, out of breath from both panic and her short run. She sweeps her up in her arms, squeezing tight. Dorothy wraps her arms around her. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“It’s-It’s Jack, the deputy,” Dorothy says, tearing springing to her eyes. Elise buries a hand in her tangled hair and holds her close. “He came in and- and he had a bomb, Elise, and he-he’s going to blow up the power plant,” she trails off, burying her head in Elise’s armor-covered chest. 

She looks around at the forming crowd, people nervous and curious in equal parts. She gently pulls Dorothy a safe distance away from the building, whistling at Toto to follow them. They stand on the edge of the crowd, next to a bizarre group consisting of a supermutant, a ghoul, and a very oddly shaped human under a large cloak. Elise catches their whispered conversation. 

“I-I think one of-one of us should go in a-after her,” the ghoul says. “M-Marcus, it’s been too-too long, I’m w-worried-” 

They must be the group that the woman was travelling with. Elise tunes them out, stroking Dorothy’s hair and murmuring calming assurances. 

After what feels like an hour, but was probably only a minute, the door to the power plant opens. The crowd immediately quiets. The woman walks out first. Jack walks behind her, arms raised in a gesture of surrender. Elise sighs in relief. 

Crisis averted, she swipes her thumb under Dorothy’s eyes, wiping away the tears of fear that were there. Then she leans down and kisses her, savoring the warmth of her body, all too conscious that this happiness could have been ripped away from her, if only Jack had taken her hostage too, if only he hadn’t given her time to get out of the building, if only this mysterious woman hadn’t been able to de-escalate the situation…

“Let’s go back home,” she suggests. “I think we’ve earned a day off, doll.” 

* * *

Being the head of the NCR Rangers had its ups and downs. The major disadvantage is the amount of work involved. 

Which is why Elise finds herself sitting at their rickety kitchen table at three o’clock in the morning, slumped over a pile of papers. Diagrams, maps, written reports from their newest outpost. She yawns and nibbles on some jerky. She needs to finish up this report, then take a look at the folder of information that Rando had given her-

“What’re you doin’ up?” Dorothy asks, rolling over on her bed and blearily raising her head. 

Elise guiltily freezes, though she’s not sure why she’s guilty. She can do whatever she wants, after all. “Work. Go back to sleep, doll, you need it.” 

Dorothy frowns, sliding off the bed and stumbling over to her. “First of all, is that  _ my  _ jerky? Second, you need sleep too, ‘Lise. Now  _ come on _ ,” she tugs at Elise’s arm until she relents, letting herself be pulled over to the bed. “That’s better. You can do boring reports later. But for now, sleep.” With that, she pulls Elise down onto the mattress and spreads herself on top of her. 

She sighs. Dorothy is a big girl, heavy enough that Elise won’t be able to escape this bed trap without waking her back up. Well, she might as well give in. And Dorothy’s right: reports can wait for tomorrow. 

* * *

“Oh my God, kill it, kill it, Elise, just do something-” Dorothy is on top of a chair. 

Elise runs in from the bathroom, already pulling out her pistol. She’d been in the middle of getting ready for work when she’d heard Dorothy screaming. “What, what is it-” 

“Oh.” She looks down to see a very small spider on the chair leg. “This isn’t even mutated. Is this...is this it?” 

Dorothy is now standing on her tiptoes, clutching the back of the chair. “Yes, just kill it already-oh thank god.” She climbs down and hugs Elise. “You’re my saviour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist... 
> 
> Also, a small Carla cameo in there!


	7. Healing- FO4 Sole/Scribe Haylen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old proverb, a new situation. Fluff/Angst, minor injury.

“Physician, heal thyself,” Julia whispers between gritted teeth. 

Scribe Haylen looks up, her blue eyes looking almost black in the half-light. “What?” She groans and tries to curl around her wounded leg, one hand squeezing Julia’s arm tight enough to hurt. 

Julia tries not to panic, glancing from time to time over her shoulder at the door. She carefully inserts a stimpack into the wound to accelerate the healing, a roll of bandages already on the floor next to her. For wounds like these, stimpacks could only do so much. “Just an old saying. Don’t worry about it.” 

A noise outside the door, thump-thump. The two women hold their breath, half-hidden behind a rotting bookcase, squeezed into a corner beneath a sink. A snarling voice saying incomprehensible words, then the footsteps fade. Julia realizes that she’s instinctively holding her baseball bat, and she releases her grip. 

Haylen looks pale in this light, her face turning ashen from the pain of her wound. Julia would offer her Med-X or some other chem to dull it, but the Brotherhood frowns upon drug addiction. The last thing she wants to do is get Haylen in trouble. Speaking of trouble, Danse is going to start getting worried. The two of them were supposed to report in already. 

“What does it mean?” Haylen asks, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Physician, heal thyself. Where did that come from?” 

The irony of the phrase doesn’t escape either of them. They’re holed up in Medford Memorial Hospital on the second floor. Some parts necessary for rebuilding Liberty Prime were rumored to be able to be found here: with all of the medical equipment mostly intact, this place was goldmine of scrap material. 

However, it’s also become a nest of super mutants. After realizing that their mission probably needed a few more hands and a few sets of power armor, Haylen and Julia had rushed upstairs, but not before shrapnel from a super mutant suicider’s close encounter with a car had embedded into Haylen’s leg, effectively rendering her unable to run. 

Now, they awaited one of two things: help to arrive, or an opening to creep back downstairs and escape. 

“An old book, I think,” Julia answers her question, trying to rack her brain to remember exactly what the proverb had come from. She wraps Haylen’s leg after gently rolling up the scribe’s sturdy pants. “It means that even when you help other people, you mustn’t neglect yourself. Make sure that the cobbler doesn’t wear the worst shoes, you know.” 

She’s glad that Haylen had volunteered to come with her. This is not a situation that she would have wanted to face alone. Ever since they had met at the police station, Julia had felt herself drawn to the quick-witted and optimistic scribe. They had participated in a few low-key missions since then together, usually in a team with Paladin Danse. But lately, they had found themselves becoming closer, spending time together on the Prydwen or at the Boston Airport while Haylen was off-duty. 

Danse had remarked a few days ago how pleased he was that she was making friends among the Brotherhood. But Julia wouldn’t say that her and Haylen were  _ just  _ friends…

Julia finishes wrapping Haylen’s leg, tying off the bandage and putting her equipment back into Haylen’s comprehensive first aid kit. The two women lock eyes in the semi-dark, night falling outside, the lights of the hospital dimmed by years of disuse and disrepair. 

“Thanks for being there for me,” Haylen whispers. “Normally I’m the one who does the patching up, so it was nice for someone else to do the heavy lifting this time.” 

Julia appreciates her effort to lighten the situation; Haylen’s sense of humor is something that she’s always appreciated. “Anytime,” she says with a smile. “Despite how homely this place is,” the wind whistles through a broken window, turning the wheels of an overturned wheelchair and creating an echoing creak that makes them shiver, “we’d better get going. There’s a hot shower and adequate medical attention on the Prydwen that’s calling my name right now.”

“Let’s not keep it waiting, then,” Haylen says, kissing her on the cheek. She interlocks her fingers with Julia’s, her other hand picking up her laser pistol. 

Julia kisses her back, glad that she’s able to appreciate  _ something  _ in this nightmare situation. And maybe this is her own healing. All that she’s done since waking up a few weeks ago is run around the Commonwealth helping anyone and anything that needed it. But ever since she met Scribe Haylen, all of that has changed. How sad would it be if she fell apart, if she became the one in need of help, just because she couldn’t slow down for a moment and actually enjoy something in this desolate world?

“Physician, heal thyself,” she whispers to herself as they crack open the door to the rest of the hospital, ready to make their daring escape together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some favorite girls! I wish Haylen's character had been more fleshed out in canon. But you know, that's what fanwork is for!

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr!](https://owlaholic68.tumblr.com/)


End file.
